


Weary Bones

by NuclearGers



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Character Death (but only in the dream), Dreams and Nightmares, Jacob baby-talks and cuddles a wolf, Jacob has a favorite Judge, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, She's like his very own support animal, and she's shamelessly named after my own wolfdog, because he's tough and badass but also a softy when no one's looking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 04:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14277333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearGers/pseuds/NuclearGers
Summary: Jacob's PTSD catches up to him in a nightmare, and when he wakes up he's comforted by his favorite Judge.





	Weary Bones

**Author's Note:**

> I really love Jacob, and I also love the idea of him being fond of the wolves and having a big soft spot for at least one or two in particular. Like, maybe a certain wolf was extra brave and tenacious, and he just grew attached to it?
> 
> And yes, the wolf in this is named after my own Maisie May who looks bizarrely close to the Judges. ( Except, for, y'know, she still has her big, fluffy tail and she doesn't have a red cross painted onto her forehead or scary, glowing eyes. ) We all need a comforting, cuddly Mai May, so why shouldn't Jake have one, too?

After hours of anxious pacing on the floor and rolling in his bed, Jacob had finally managed to fall into sleep that night. It had started off calm and dreamless, but it wasn't long at all before his rest was a fitful one, the nightmares slowly creeping their way into his troubled mind.

When he'd started to dream, he'd began the scene by walking through a vast, open bliss field. It was beautiful and quiet, the only noises being the gentle rushing of the breeze sweeping over the white flowers and the faint sound of Faith's laughter that it carried with it.

The air was pleasantly hazy and sprinkled with little sparkles that looked like fireflies, typical of the high one got when walking through one of these bliss fields, and Jacob felt himself smiling. He also felt his steps grow heavy and clumsy, the distorted sounds of his own amused laughter hitting his ears.

He felt good. He felt light and free and almost lifted, and it was so wonderful. 

Ahead of him, he saw the forms of his three younger siblings, and he waved to them and called out, "Hey! Hey, wait up!" 

They all said something to him but he couldn't make out what it was so he tried getting closer to them. He started to run, or at least, attempted to, sluggish and clumsy in his dream state and made even more-so with the imagined bliss-high. 

When he stepped to the earth again, the sharp sound of his boot splashing into something warm and wet caught his attention. Curious, he looked down and saw red. Red, everywhere. Puddles and ditches of it, sprinkled all over the flower petals like dew, as if it had been used to irrigate the bliss crop.

Jacob startled, frowning, and he took a step back from the puddle that had stained him only to end up ankle-deep in another. 

He swallowed, thick and dry, and his heart thudded hard, too hard, in his chest as he bent down to dip shaky fingers into the almost-black crimson. Raising the stained digits to his nose, he sniffed and cringed as the tang of iron hit him like a freight train.

Blood. 

He stood so abruptly that he dizzied himself for a moment, and when he gathered his senses back he realized something else was wrong. The air was still hazy, but the pretty sparkles had been replaced with an ugly, yellowed tint, and the pleasant scent was now overpowered by something sickly-sweet and gut-wrenchingly familiar. As soon as he'd realized the haze was wrong, his skin began to burn, and where there had once been decades-old scars there were now bubbling blisters and raw, red skin. 

Jacob screamed in both pain and surprised fear, and then he broke into a run. The dream –nightmare, now- made him feel like he was in molasses, but he forced himself through the sleep-mire, only knowing that he had to get out of that poisoned field, had to get to safety and get back home, back to his siblings and make sure they were safe, too. 

He felt like he couldn't breathe, like he couldn't see, his throat too tight and his eyes too cloudy, and everything was so hot and burning. In the distance, screams of men and women had replaced Faith's beautiful siren songs, some voices so loud he almost couldn't hear his own.

Finally, somehow, he'd made it through the field of bliss flowers. Chancing a look back at them, he saw that once-picturesque field was now soaked in blood and wilting, smothered in a burning yellow cloud that made his lungs ache just from looking at it.

"Fuck," he rasped, "fuck...!" 

Turning, he continued on and headed in the direction of where he'd last seen his beloved younger siblings. 

As he headed off to find the younger Seeds, he stumbled through a gauntlet of dead, mangled human bodies. Some were burned, some were shot, some were ripped to shreds by shrapnel and IEDs, others were blistered and bloated from chemicals, and some were torn apart or punctured by knives... some were men, women, or children, old, young, or somewhere in-between. Each face was different, all belonging to civilians or fellow soldiers he once knew or hadn't known, but as he trudged on, he began to notice with a growing horror that more and more, each face that was still intact began to resemble his late best friend, Miller. 

The last bodies he came upon, he knew, he fucking knew, were Miller, and it wasn't just their miserable faces they'd shared with him but the rest of their brutalized corpses, too. The precise, familiar wounds and missing body parts, the tattoos on stiff, blue skin, that shredded, ruined uniform, and the glazed look in their cold, empty eyes...

Tears that had been welled in Jacob's eyes now ran freely down his cheeks, and his stomach panged with guilt and regret. He groaned miserably and shook his head, whimpering a slurred apology, but he couldn't stop now, couldn't let Miller hold him up any longer. 

He carried on.

"Joseph!" He cried, the name ripping from his sore, dry throat. He called again, the next two names hurting just as much as the first had. "John? Faith!"

He started to call Joseph's name again when gunfire, quick, loud, and in successions of three, cut him off abruptly. His voice died in his throat, barely allowing a weak whimper to choke free, and it took every effort in his body to get it to move again. He broke into another tired, lagging run that brought him to a cleared circle of field and what he saw brought him to his knees.

There, in the center of this clearing, were the three bodies of his baby siblings. They were laid out neatly, side-by-side with Joseph in the center, and a bullet hole was embedded in each of their foreheads.

Jacob stared for a long moment, not able to register what he was seeing, but when he finally did his voice cracked and he cried out a long, terrible wail. He crawled over to the fallen Seeds and pulled the three of them up into his strong arms, holding them in a tight, shaking embrace. 

He expected a hug back from them. They always returned the contact, they always did, especially sweet Faith, but instead they slumped against him, their cooling blood staining his skin and clothes. Jostling their corpses uselessly, he screamed again, shaking his head and moaning, "No, no, no!"

The eldest Seed buried his face in his dead sister's hair and he sobbed, crying and rocking until something moved against him, something heavy and warm, and suddenly there was a new wetness to his cheek. 

* * *

 

Jacob startled out of his dream and sat right up in bed with a choked shout, green eyes wide and arms flailing, forearm stinging where it had just struck against something. 

As he flung himself towards the end of the bed and pressed flat against the cool metal of the wall, his chest heaved rapidly, and the only sounds in his ears were his ragged breaths and quiet, sharp whimpers from somewhere off to the side. His eyes darted every-which-way expecting to see the ghosts from his nightmare to come crawling out of the shadows any moment now.

It took a long minute for him to gather himself and assess the situation.

His eyes still stung, but that was from the tears he'd been crying. The burning on his skin was from the old rash scars he'd scratched and torn at, some of them now bleeding freshly. His throat was raw from the screams he'd given, and his lungs and chest and head ached from all his fast, harsh breathing. He was sticky with sweat and hot from thrashing around in his tangled, messy bedsheets, and his body was only now starting to come down from the adrenaline. 

He was alone. There were no corpses with their ruined bodies and glazed, accusing eyes. There was no yellow fog and no wilting flowers. 

There were no dead siblings. 

The younger Seeds weren't here with him now, but he knew they were okay. He'd know if they weren't. Joseph and John were at the ranch house, and Faith was supposed to be leading another pilgrimage. Everyone was safe. Everyone was okay. Everyone was alive.

Another, louder whimper from the floor caught his attention, and he turned his attention to that. With mild surprise, he remembered that he wasn't quite as alone as he'd thought; Maisie May, his favorite Judge, had been allowed to spend the night in his bunker room with him this evening. She'd fallen asleep on the rug near the door, but now she lay huddled on the floor with her ears back and head down, big, gold eyes looking up at him a little nervously.

It was then he'd realized that the slight soreness on his forearm, the soreness he'd glossed over upon waking, was from having struck her when he'd woken up. Immediately, he felt terrible about it, and with a heavy sigh he leaned forward and, slowly, reached a still-jittery hand out to her. She didn't respond right away, so he spoke up in as soft a tone he could manage in his anxious state.

"C'mere, girlie. C'mon, daddy won't hit you again, I promise."

The stub of Maisie May's soft tail gently patted against the metal floor, her eyes darting from his hand to his face, and after a moment she got up and wandered back over to him, her head ducked submissively.

"That's it, baby, good girl," he cooed, voice thick and rough from his ruined sleep. When she headbutted his palm, he slipped his hand behind her head and scratched at her big ears. His racing heartbeat continued to calm. "I didn't mean to crack you like that, I really didn't. Daddy just... daddy's got some problems, and they do things to him. Make him react poorly. I won't do that to you again."

Jacob sniffled and grunted, instantly annoyed at himself for his weakness, and he quickly raised his free hand to swipe at the remaining tears on his cheek. Maisie looked up at him, no judgment in her gold eyes. It helped to soothe some of the frustration he felt at himself.

He patted at the mattress and the wolf jumped right up onto the bed, flopping heavily against his side and setting her head into his lap with a grunt. His eyes closed and he sighed again, lighter, relief washing over him as he felt more of that anxiety ebbing away. His scarred fingers buried themselves in her thick, white fur and he absently petted.

The two of them sat there like that for a while, staring off into the darkness of the room and appreciating each other's company. They were both something familiar and grounding to the other, a place of solace and comfort that helped take them away from the terrors that plagued them; Jacob, his traumas, and Maisie, the drugs and training coursing through her veins. Neither was an enemy to the other. There was only trust and love. Jacob was especially grateful for it.

"Thank you for waking me up outta that shit, lil' girl. I owe you a big, fat, juicy steak or something tomorrow, don't I?" He snorted and rubbed his face, hissing softly as his fingertips brushed a fresh scratch in the scarring on his forehead. His head dropped back down to the bed and he scowled. 

"Well, shit."

The wolf just barely tilted her sleepy head up to glance at him. 

"Nothin', darlin', go to sleep." He snorted again and shook his head. "Goddamn, listen to me talking to you like you're a person. Can't help it, though, you're about the only one in this whole fucked up world that I really can talk to when it comes to these things. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love Joseph to death, and I know he's got the whole "God's love" in him and all that happy horseshit, but... well, y'know, I think he's got a bit of that "God's judgment" in him, too, as much as he might try to deny it. And sometimes... sometimes a man just doesn't want judgment or sympathy. He doesn't wanna be pitied. I don't wanna be pitied."

Maisie adjusted and nuzzled against his thigh, tongue darting out to lick her nose. He ran a hand over her marked forehead.

"I don't get that from you. Despite that whole "Judge" thing we call you guys, I don't feel a lick of pity or judgment or sympathy from you. You're just... you, just a wolf, and you're here. You don't try to pry or cry or pester. You can't talk or pat me on the back or anything but you just being here is enough to make me feel like things are real and safe again, and that's all that matters. I don't need nothing more than that. Thank you. Mai."

The wolf responded by grunting again, and she yawned a big, wide yawn.

He felt the tiredness creeping up on him once more, too. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to get to sleep again –hell, he wasn't sure if he'd  _want_ to-, but he should at least try. Besides, he didn't need the pain in the ass that would be Joseph fretting over why the bags under his eyes looked worse than they had the day before. He didn't want to have to talk about how he'd had another one of  _those_ nightmares again, and, if he was being honest, he didn't want to have to hear about how God was going to continue easing him out of his trauma. 

He just... didn't have the patience for it right now.

With a mumbled apology and some jostling of the wolf, he slipped free of her and hefted her up in his big arms, easily laying the wriggly beast down on her side. He followed suit, lying down on his own side and pressing his front to her back, arms slipping around her until he was hugging the Judge like a she was a toothy teddy bear and not a drugged-up war machine. He nestled his scarred face against the mess of fluffy fur on her neck and closed his eyes, sighing again, and soon the two of them were settled back down.

Another minute passed, then two, and Jacob was no longer tense and panicked, his heartbeat was normal and his breathing regulated. Parts of him still ached and he was mildly uncomfortable from the drying sweat on his skin, but that could all be dealt with by taking a nice, long shower in the morning. He was too exhausted to do anything more than try and sleep now, and even the effort for that sounded ridiculously taxing, especially with the memories of his nightmare swarming the back of his mind.

Just the thought of those made his heartrate spike, and he had to remind himself of where he was and that everything was okay right now. To help himself focus, he sifted a hand through Maisie May's fur until he found the Judge's own heartbeat. Placing a palm on her chest, he concentrated on counting the beats of the wolf's heart, how fast it went and how often, how much it slowed as she fell deeper into sleep, and how soothing it was.

The action put him right back at ease, and before he knew it, Jacob was sleeping again. When he dreamed, it was of smiling, happy Seed siblings and a mix of green grass and long, white fur against his fingers. 

When he'd wake that morning, it would be rested and content, and the memories of his nightmare would be forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. <3


End file.
